What Happened Last Night
by Chi-Chan11
Summary: A drunk England tries to get America to explain what happened the night before, and the explanation is a little shocking. Rated T for mild cursing, slight violence and some romance just to be safe!


The sun streamed in through the bay windows of his house and with it came the pounding in his head. Groaning, England opened his eyes. He was spread-eagle on his back, surrounded by several strong smelling tawny bottles. Inhaling deeply into the opening confirmed it was whisky. Sitting up, England looked around, besides the small puddle on the floor, nothing else was damaged, but he had a horrible feeling about the events of last night.

Walking into his room to clean up, he paused by a full-length mirror and froze. His shirt was gone, and his pants were torn; and what looked like bite marks were scattered across his arms and shoulders. A massive bruise had sprouted below his left eye, what had happened last night? Starting to become worried, he hopped into the shower, hoping to wash all traces of last night from his mind.

Leaving the shower wrapped in a towel, he was pursued by plumes of steam into his bedroom where he got dressed. He checked the clock, it was nearly noon, but his head hurt too much to eat much of anything. Wandering downstairs, he made a large cup of earl grey tea and popped an Advil. As the medicine took effect, the fogginess in his head dissipated, but he still had no recollection of the night before. Groggily, he trudged into his study, pulling the phone closer to him. _'who can I call who will tell me what in fact happened last night?' _even the idea made England's head spin, and he moaned softly, dropping his head into his hands. Getting an idea, as crazy it seemed, it might work. He dialed the number; it rang a few times then picked up, a cheery voice greeted him: "Hello? England, is that you?"

"Hey America, um, I had a question for you." Twisting his hands nervously, he hoped the American, as obnoxious and daft as he was, could remember what happened.

"What is it dude? Fire away!" America sounded as cheery as usual.

"America, what happened last night?" Biting his tongue, England hoped it wasn't too bad. "I woke up with a massive hangover, and I have a horrible feeling about the events of yesterday, can you tell me what happened?" When America didn't answer immediately like he usually did, England became worried.

"Well um, um, the events of last night…" The American sounded uneasy.

"Just spit it out you wanker!" England barked into the phone, then instantly regretted it.

"Um, it'd be easier to talk somewhere f-face to face. You may found the events interesting. S-s-so I'll come over in an h-hour, okay?" The American was stuttering nervously, which was extremely odd for such a rambunctious man as himself, the oddity in itself disturbed England.

"America wait-" before he could finish, the phone cut off with a beep, the idiot had hung up. "Damn!" He cussed, biting down on his cheek. Slamming the phone down, he stomped out of the study. After going down to the kitchen and pulling out a slightly stale scone and scarfing it down, he slumped down on an armchair with a book. It had only been a few minutes and he was already bored. The book was frivolously naïve and he was not in the mood to go through his spell books.

Remembering the puddle of whisky and the bottles on the floor, he got up and wearily walked into the room, disposing of the foul smelling bottles. Walking into the kitchen, he soaked a rag with cleaner, he dabbed at the spot until it was wet and smelled strongly of cleaner. Tossing the rag into the sink, he found some stain removal powder and dusted the brown puddle remains until the rug was snowy white. He left to find the vacuum, and methodically vacuumed the area until the rug was most of the way clean, except for a pale amber tinged mark that was barely visible. With a few minutes to spare, he sat back in the armchair, back straight and poised for any situation that might arise.

Within a few minutes, England heard a noisy car pull up and cut off, and a few seconds later, the doorbell rang. Heavily getting to his feet, England walked over to the door and pulled it open. Standing on the porch was a nervous America; he looked surprised for a second, but smiled unconvincingly after a second. "Hey England d-dude!" The stutter gave away the happy façade, "wow, you must have really had a hangover, I can smell the whisky from h-here!" Smiling brightly America seemed content, but England had his doubts.

"Hello America, come on in." Ignoring the whisky comment, he led his guest inside, motioning him to follow him. "Would you like some tea?" England looked back, waiting for a response.

"Tea is fine." America now seemed to be trying to keep as quiet as possible, but the idea of America wanting tea was odd. "I'll sit down over here. Okay?" He sat down in an armchair lightly, his feet raised up onto his toes. Walking into his kitchen, he settled on giving America apple cider inside of tea. Maybe keeping the complaints to a minimum, pouring the sweet apple mix into a brass kettle, he started the stove and after a few minutes, he poured the hot cider into a mug and placed a cinnamon stick in and giving it a quick stir. He brought the cup to America and sat down. America took a tentative sip, and then cracked a smile. "This is really good."

"Thanks America, now getting to the point, what happened last night?" At that question, the American dropped the smile and looked to the ground. "What happened America?"

"Um, well, you and I went to a bar." America stared intently at the floor, and a sudden memory flooded his head.

_He and America walked to a brightly lit and noisy bar called the 'Late Night Tavern'. America was laughing uncontrollably, "you really had to call the fire department?"_

"_Shut up you git!" England socked him in the arm, "I didn't burn the scones that badly!"_

"_Yeah, you're just horrible at cooking!" Cackling, America dodged another punch._

"_My Mumsy's scones are delicious!" he growled annoyed, "and just for that you're paying." _

"_No fair dude!" The American pouted for a minute, but brightened up as they entered the bar._

"Oh yeah," The Englishman pondered over the flashback, "I remember now". Pursing his lips together he looked to America, "then what?"

"Well you started drinking, a lot, then, well, you got into an argument with Russia." America looked apologetic, "that's where the bruise came from". Again England was flooded by a memory.

_England was seated at a barstool with America next to him. Spread out in front of him was a platter with assorted shots of vodka, tequila and bourbon. America was sipping a martini slowly, twirling the toothpick skewered olive around the cool glass. About a third of the shots were gone, and England was still gulping more. In a few minutes, there were only three shots left, and England was becoming dizzy. America was staring at him worriedly. _

"_Dude, are you okay? You've had a lot to drink. Maybe you should stop." The American sounded concerned,_

"_what are you my mum?" The Englishman was too drunk to listen, he staggered out of his stool and wandered over to a large blonde man gulping a bottle of vodka. "Hey you," England pointed at the man accusingly._

"_Oh hello England, it's nice to see you da?" The Russian sounded slightly tipsy himself, but still possessed that child-like innocence. _

"_Don't you back-talk me!" England growled at the towering Russian, "and I don't like that look on your face!" At that remark Russia darkened._

"_Why so cruel England? You will regret it da?" A furious aura now surrounded the man._

"_I think not!" England scoffed and in the next second his face was on fire and he was flying backwards, a soft "kolkolkolkol" noise was coming from Russia. America was at his side in a second, propping up his former-mentor. _

"Right." England rubbed the purple bruise, "damn that hurt."

"I know," America smiled briefly, "the commie bastard got you good."

"Enough of that America, then what happened? It's starting to come together." The Englishman sighed, hoping it wouldn't get much worse. "Did it get worse?"

"Yes and no. We got kicked out of the bar, then we went back to my car and I drove you home."

"Oh, lovely." Sarcastically, England shook his head. The flashback was returning.

"_Get out! Get out!" A frantic squat man was pushing the pair out of the tavern, "I can't have you ruining my bar, now stay out and get your friend home." With a grunt the man swung the door closed, leaving the pair on the sidewalk._

"_Come on dude, let's get you home." America flung England's arm over his shoulder and started pulling him towards his car. "You really shouldn't drink." England ignored him though, wrapped up in his off key singing:_

"_So I drive home alone, as I turn out the light  
I'll put his picture down and maybe  
Get some sleep tonight.  
He's the reason for the teardrops on my guitar  
The only one who's got enough of me to break my heart  
He's the song in the car I keep singing, don't know why I do  
He's the time taken up, but there's never enough  
And he's all that I need to fall into_."

"_Dude? You listen to Taylor Swift?" America laughed at his drunken mentor. "Never mind that, let's go home." England seemingly ignored him and continued his drunken humming. Within a few minutes, they were parked in front of England's house._

"_Hey, America?" The drunken slur was temporarily gone, "can I tell you something?"_

"_Yeah dude, anything." America thought he was going to hear a rant about fairies or something else._

"_I've wanted to say this for a long time, America, I l-love you." His voice was soft and sheepish._

"_Dude I really don't care about your- wait, you said what now?" America was wide eyed and slack-jawed._

"_I love you Alfred, and I want you to love me too." The Englishman blushed deeply, twiddling his fingers awkwardly._

"_Arthur, I-" America was suddenly cut off by England lunging clumsily at his face._

"Oh god," England buried his head in his hands, going completely scarlet. "I'm so sorry," this wasn't at all what he expected at all.

"Hey, it's okay, I didn't help much." The American was awkwardly rubbing his counterparts back, trying to relax the unresponsive man. After a minute, he looked up.

"What do you mean by that?" America grinned sheepishly,

"I kind of kissed you back," this time America was blushing.

"Is that why my shirt and pants were ripped?"

"Yep,"

"And the bite marks?"

"Also me."

"I don't remember how that kiss went, can you show me again?" America raised an eyebrow at the question, then slowly leaned in, pressing his lips to the blushing Englishman.

After a few passionate moments, they parted. "Alfred, does that mean you love me?" Afraid of the answer, England shrunk back.

America pulled him into a hug, and England dropped his head onto his shoulder. "Of course Arthur".

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Hope everyone enjoyed this one-shot! Reviews are welcome!


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